Fire is the traditional enemy of books – from the repeated destructions of the Great Library of Alexandria, up to modern disasters such as the second Gulf War. No wonder then, that the Bodleian Library in Oxford requires readers to swear:
not to bring into the Library or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library.
When the competition for the design of the Berkeley was begun in 1960, a full 60% of men and 40% of women in Ireland smoked (source); this was before the causation of lung cancer by smoking had become common knowledge. For contrast, in 2016 26% of males smoked and 20% of females (source).
So, it wouldn’t be unusual for people to smoke everywhere. This being unacceptable in a library, signs were put up, such as this fine example from the main stairwell:
Traditionally the area directly in front of the Berkeley would be the place to go for a crafty smoke. No longer! This spot is now a no smoking zone as part of the campus’ Trinity Smoke Free initiative. For those gasping for a coffin nail, there is a new covered smoking area behind the Berkeley, opposite Kinsella Hall.
For staff, however, being able to smoke in the staff break room was freely allowed until quite recently. The iconic John Donat image of three young ladies having hot drinks and a quick smoke on the patio looks fantastic; however, if it was a more typical Irish day staff could stay in the tea room behind it and puff happily away. When the Ussher was built, the staff common room was moved, with that area being transformed into the Librarian’s Office. By then, smoking had been restricted to a smaller Smoking Room, which then disappeared entirely.
But, while staff could smoke in a lot of areas, some areas were off limits. To finish, we feature the following tale from Sean Breen, our current Counter Supervisor in the BLU complex:
Imagine if you will the Librarian’s Office as it existed in the early 1970s. Physically it was on your right as you entered the Berkeley from the podium and where the Blackstone team now reside. Behind an imposing black door, it housed the administrative hub of the library. You were met on entry by the Librarian’s secretary on your left, Margaret (Peggy) Doyle but *always* Mrs Doyle, resplendent and commanding in pearls, a twinset and coiffed grey hair, on the right was the younger but no less fore-boding (to us boys anyway!) Ms Muriel Allison, the Deputy Librarian’s secretary who had signed my original letter of appointment. In a small office to the right sat Ms Mairead Looby who attended to Library accounts and who a colleague reminds me had an Afghan hound (how exotic was that?) – at home though, not in the office. Protected by these ladies and behind more closed doors were the Librarian of the day, Mr Peter Brown – a typical Oxford don in tweed jacket, v-neck pullover, country twill shirt and tie rounded off with impeccably pressed corduroy trousers – I don’t think we ever had a conversation! Such were the times. And behind Muriel Allison, we were allowed call her Muriel, was the Deputy Librarian’s office occupied by Mr R.B. McCarthy (later Reverend and Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral).
The scene is set.
We were two wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old Library Clerks (formerly Library Attendants and only later Assistants) about to embark on our first ‘sun’ holiday to the Costa in Spain – Tossa de Mar to be specific. Two weeks without parents or siblings on a full-board package that cost £80 for two weeks with £40 spending money (Dos Cervezas por favor). Looking back on pay slips for that month, take home pay was £59! Consider today spending two-months’ salary on a fortnight’s holiday.
Needless to say, a wonderful time was had by all.
Arriving back at Dublin airport at 8:30 am on a Friday – charter flights dominated holiday travel and left and arrived at ungodly hours – we found ourselves flat broke and still a weekend as part of annual leave ahead of us. An executive decision was made to take a taxi (no money but ‘the plan’ would sort that out) directly to the Library, collect our cheques (they were cheques), stop at a bank and home for a snooze before regaling our friends with much embellished stories of our adventure.
Traffic and vehicles moved more freely on campus in those days so we directed the taxi driver to the front steps at the Podium. I volunteered to run in and collect our wages, forgetting though that I was brandishing a large, pungent, Spanish Ducados cigarette (the cheapest of the cheap) and appeared jauntily and tanned in front of said Mrs Doyle requesting our envelopes. Well…
If I had sauntered in naked there would have been less consternation – WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE MISTER? TAKE YOURSELF OUT OF HERE! THIS IS A LIBRARY NOT A PUBLIC BAR!
We eventually and sheepishly got our cheques and had yet another yarn to share.
Ask Sean about this if you see him at the counter!
Main image: Architectural Press Archive/RIBA Collections.